by Winters, KB
But I knew my dad was still in there somewhere and I had to believe he was because it was the only way I’d agree to Eamon’s degrading plan without hating myself for the rest of my life.
“You can’t trust him,” he said.
Another laugh escaped and this one was more bitter than the last. “Of course I can’t trust him, Dad. I wonder if there’s anyone I can trust, but that’s not really the point. is it? I know I can’t trust you to pay back the money before they kill you, which means I have to trust that man to keep his word.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Well then fuck, at least I know I did my best,” I spat out, tired of the bullshit.
It was a question I’d already asked myself and there was no satisfying answer. If I spent four days in Eamon’s bed and he still enforced the debt, then selling my body would be the least of my worries. “If he doesn’t then you’ll likely be dead in the desert and I’ll have more important things to worry about. Like other fucking gangsters coming to me to pay off your stupid debts.”
“You don’t know Eamon,” he insisted, worry and fear clouding his eyes.
He was right, I didn’t. Other than what I’d heard about him through the Rocket grapevine, which I tried to avoid, I knew very little about Gorgeous Asshole. But I knew he was hot as fuck, and if I’d met him under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to get naked with him, which meant I knew my answer. As if I had a choice in the matter. “No, I don’t but I do know that if I don’t agree with him, then I’ll be signing your death warrant.”
“Maybe that’s what needs to happen. We both know I haven’t been the same since your mom passed. Without your mom here, I’m afraid everything has turned to shit. When you left for college, I was glad, happy that you wouldn’t see me like this.” He motioned to his battered face with a sharp laugh. “But now I’ve put you right in the center of my shit show, which was the last thing I ever wanted.”
“Oh, so now you’re suicidal? Why didn’t you tell me about your gambling problem? Did Mom know how bad it was?”
He nodded. “She did and she put limits on me. No more than a hundred bucks every now and then because that was all we could afford to lose without suffering, and it worked well.”
“Until it didn’t.”
Dad nodded again. “My grief over losing your mother was bad, sweetheart. Most days I didn’t know how to deal with it. How to cope. Once you were in high school and didn’t need me to make sure you got up on time or finished your homework, it was an excuse to let go. Let the addiction consume me.”
The regret that his face displayed only strengthened my resolve. “I’ll do this, Dad, because I have to. I love you and you’re all I have left in this world, so whatever I need to do to keep you safe, I’ll do it.”
“I know, I just wish you didn’t have to.”
That made two of us because, as much as my body might be screaming out that I was a big fat fucking liar because I wanted Eamon, I was worried that I might hate my dad forever for putting me in this position. And if that was the case, was it even worth it? “Yeah, me too.”
But everything about this situation had trouble written all over it and as certainty and resolve settled around my shoulders like one of those super cute sophisticated New York City cloaks, another unwelcome sensation crept in...
Trouble.
Whatever happened during the next four nights, I was sure I wouldn’t walk away the same woman I was today.
Chapter Six
Eamon
Hiding out inside of a dark dive bar frequented by mid-level business managers who wanted to make sure their wives and girlfriends never found out about each other was not my idea of a good night. In fact, I was pretty sure it was one of the circles of hell, fueled by cheap cologne, cheaper perfume and half-priced well drinks. But I needed some time to think.
I needed to come up with an explanation for why I didn’t have one fucking dollar of the money Peter Michaels owed the family. Staring at my swollen, bloody knuckles, I knew damn well I couldn’t tell my father that I couldn’t resist the man’s daughter and had decided to let him repay the debt with her body. If I did that, he’d laugh with that sharp glint in his eye that had made more than a few hardened gangsters tremble in their boots. Then he would tell me what he always did.
“If she’s willing to do that, let’s put her to work and get all my money back. With interest.”
And even though I didn’t know anything about Layla, except that I wanted to fuck her, I didn’t want that fate for her. This wasn’t her debt, it was her old man’s. And what was worse was the surprise written on her face when she realized that she was the only one in the room surprised by the beat down and the debt. She hadn’t even known he was a gambler, so no, I wouldn’t put her to work in one of the Connelly’s whorehouses, strip clubs or escort agencies.
No, Layla was mine. For four long beautiful nights, she would be mine. In my bed, up against the wall, in the shower. However I wanted to take that delectable body with mouthwatering curves, I would.
Hard and fast, slow and intense, wild and out of control. I had four days of total access and I had no qualms about taking them in exchange for the money.
Men loved to pretend they didn’t pay for sex but we all did. One way or another, we paid. Married guys paid with mortgages and family vacations; single guys paid with expensive meals the women didn’t eat, overpriced cars to reel in the prettiest of the bunch. We all paid in the hoops we jumped through, issuing just the right compliment instead of telling a chick she had great tits or a nice round ass, kissing her chastely on her doorstep and forking over cash for two more dates just so she felt comfortable enough to spread her legs.
Yeah, we all paid in some way, shape or form. The only difference was this time, we both knew what was expected going in. There were no games to be played. I wanted her body and to save her dad, Layla would give it to me.
An hour later and I still didn’t have a valid excuse to give for the lack of money in my hands. I shook off the cheap whiskey buzz and made my way to my car and headed toward my dad’s house.
By the time I walked through the doors of my father’s house, I was stone cold sober and ready with a believable excuse for not collecting the debt.
“Well, well, the prodigal son has finally returned.” Rourke’s dark stare honed in with a little too much focus for my liking. My cousin saw too damn much with those keen eyes. Usually I appreciated it, but right now I just wanted him to go the hell away. “Everything cool?”
That was how Rourke checked in and it was what I loved most about him. He wanted to know all the details but we were men and he accepted what I told him while also being prepared to jump in and help if need be. “Yeah, everything’s cool. He won’t like what I have to say but it is what it is.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Rourke said with confidence, swirling the amber liquid in his glass slowly. “Uncle Patrick is in a mood so tread carefully with your news.”
I frowned. My father was an intense and ruthless man but usually he enjoyed his work, even the dirty parts. Hell, if you asked me, he enjoyed the dirtier parts of running a criminal organization most of all. “Anything in particular?”
“Shae took exception to the way one of the johns left one of our girls and broke his ribs. The asshole was threatening to sue until I reminded him that his pregnant wife might take all of his money if she knew about his little side habit.” Rourke grinned, so pleased when he could play Machiavelli instead of just the mob accountant role Patrick had relegated him to.
“Nice. Shae in there?”
“Hell no. Uncle reamed his ass and he took off like a bat out of hell. My guess is he’s somewhere half shit-faced with at least two chicks at his side.”
I laughed. “Lucky him. I’m going in.”
“Good luck,” Rourke called out sarcastically. I knew he didn’t believe I’d need it. Both my cousin and my brother were certain I was Patrick’s favorite but if that was
true, it was news to me. I knew he loved his sons and also loved his sister’s son as if Rourke were his own, but Patrick didn’t play favorites, not in the way they thought. He respected me because of the role I played within the organization. I wasn’t the only one who cracked skulls and broke knees when it was necessary. But as the first-born son of the Connelly family, it was a little odd that I had taken to this particular job so well
Because of my role as enforcer, people feared me, and because of my relationship to Patrick, they also respected me. It meant I had the perfect combination to take his place when the time came, but that didn’t mean I was his favorite. I was just the most useful.
For now.
I took a deep breath and knocked on his study door.
“Come in.”
When I opened the door, Patrick sat behind his desk with his head resting on the back of the chair and his eyes closed.
“Is this a good time?” I asked.
He groaned and pushed away from the desk. A thin young redhead wearing a scrap of white Lycra that was pretending to be a dress knelt at his feet. With obvious disappointment, he said, “Let’s pick this up later, Jacinda.”
“You got it, Mr. Connelly.” She rose to her feet, adjusted the Lycra to cover her essentials and gave a cute little finger wave to Dad without sparing me a glance as she left. Smart girl, knowing who had the real power in the room.
“You got my money?” He didn’t even wait until his pants were back around his waist and his cock was zipped up before speaking. I wasn’t surprised. There was no clocking out in this line of work and Patrick didn’t waste time when he didn’t have to.
“Not exactly, but I will.”
“That’s funny,” he said in a tone that said it was anything but funny, “because I sent you to get my money.”
I didn’t want to split hairs, but I clarified my mission. “You sent me to remind him why it was stupid not to pay,” I said, ignoring his glare because even though he thought he was badass with the glares—which he was—he was still my father. “Five days and he’ll have the money in full. Guaranteed.”
“Five more days, really? And how exactly will he have the money, Eamon? Gamblers are notorious liars.”
“Because I’ll be checking in with him daily. He wants to pay the money back because he wants to keep working with us and I intend to make sure both of those things happen.”
Patrick grinned. “That’s what I love about you, son. You’re always focused on the bigger picture.” His grin faded back to all business. “Just make sure I have my money by the end of the week. Or else.” He didn’t need to emphasize the threat. I understood it loud and clear.
If the money wasn’t here in five days, Peter Michaels wasn’t the only one who’d be in deep shit.
Chapter Seven
Layla
The thing I loved most about my job was flex days. I had until eleven o’clock to get to work, which allowed me to do hot yoga at eight before I had to be in the office.
I needed hot yoga this morning, more than anyone in the history of the world has ever needed any kind of yoga, hot or otherwise. Eamon Connelly would expect an answer from me and I had to tell him yes. Yeah sure, I’m gonna let you fuck me for four days straight so you’ll cancel my dad’s debt. What the fuck am I getting myself into?
I’d pondered it all night long when I should have been sleeping to rest up for the full day of work I had ahead of me. What if Dad owed three or four grand? Seriously, I could pay that much to get him out of debt, but it was still a lot of money. Not that my dad’s life wasn’t important, but I didn’t even get to have fun gambling all that money away.
I wondered, would I whore myself out for a measly two thousand bucks? What if he only owed five hundred or a thousand? Oh, God. I’d be a cheap whore without even knowing it.
Then again, what if it was more than that and it got Eamon to thinking that maybe he’d be overpaying for the fuck and he’d extend it to a week? A month? No, four days was doable. Tolerable. Anything more than that, I just couldn’t stand.
I could get through four days of this. Mostly because I was a pretty tough chick, at least I liked to think I was. I’d had enough casual sex to know good sex didn’t equal love. But there was something in those swirling, colorful eyes of Eamon’s that told me he wouldn’t fight fair. He seemed like the kind of guy who played for keeps, played dirty to make sure every woman wanted him, even though he didn’t want to give them more than necessary.
He was a player in every sense of the word.
And that made me horny as fuck.
But I should know how much I was doing the deed for? Would I regret knowing my going rate?
“Ugh, stop!” I stared at myself in the mirror, smiling at the new burgundy blouse I picked out of my closet this morning. I finally ripped the price tag—there goes that word again—off and I promised myself that I’d kick my own ass if I thought about him one more time.
Work. I had to get to work. Today my team would start working on the official proposal for our new client and I was eager to get started. If he wanted to know my answer, he would find a way to get it, otherwise I was washing my hands of it.
Right now.
As of this moment.
Dammit.
Satisfied with my reflection and doubly satisfied that my attempt at cigarette pants didn’t make my ass look big, I vowed that I wouldn’t let anything ruin my day.
“You hear that, Universe? Nothing!”
I grabbed my bag, my purse and my phone, thinking of nothing but what my playlist would be. “Dammit, I should’ve kept that last part to myself.” Standing on my doorstep looking as fuckable as ever in a blue three-piece suit with a light blue shirt that made him look like a model, fresh from some steamy island destination instead of the dungeon he’d probably come from.
“Good morning to you too, princess.”
I wanted to smack him. “Layla. My name is Layla.”
“I know your name.”
Damn, this guy was what girls meant when they called someone sex on a stick. His voice pitched all low and gravelly, the tone meant to dampen panties and clench thighs. Mission accomplished, dammit.
“Then use it. Why are you here?”
“You know why I’m here.”
He did it again and I nodded like some mute dummy. “You want an answer.” It wasn’t a question because that was the only possible reason he would show up.
“I do.”
Of course he did. I stepped forward at the same time Eamon did but of course he was at least a foot taller than me, maybe more, and his steps were bigger than mine, pushing me back into the house. “You don’t need to come in for the answer. I have to get to work.”
“You have time.” His tone was confident and that sent a shiver or maybe it was a thrill through me at the notion that he somehow knew about my flex days. “So, what’ll it be, Layla?”
Sweet baby Jesus. The man said my name better than Eric Clapton ever could and the way his rolled his tongue around each syllable had my mind thinking about that tongue curling around other things. But then I remembered. This wasn’t about desire, this was about possession, and it was technically commerce. I needed to remember that now more than ever. “I think you know I have to say yes.”
His eyes looked like pure gold against the blue suit with tiny lightning bolts of brown to complete his hot mob boss look. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“It must be nice to live such a black and white life. What I want, Eamon, is for my father to never have borrowed that damn money in the first place. That’s what I want so don’t give me that shit. You want it clear? Yes. Yes to the four days to clear the debt.” I didn’t miss the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that quickly turned to desire or the twisted smirk on his still kissable mouth.
“Good. I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.” The way he licked his lips guaranteed at least a partial good time for me. I just hoped it would be enough.
�
��Does it matter if I do?”
“It damn well does. When I slide my tongue deep inside that sweet wet cunt of yours and hear you scream my name, my cock will be so hard, so ready to burst.” I wasn’t ashamed to admit I swallowed. Hard. At the imagery. “And just to make sure you know when it happens, I’ll come all over those pretty tits of yours.”
Yes, please. I mean, maybe. I wasn’t really a girl who went for the porn shit. I could give a good blowjob but dude juice on my tits wasn’t really my thing. But to know he’d come that hard because of me? I might hate it a little less. “You have a dirty mouth.” Damn, why couldn’t my voice ever sound that husky when I wanted it to?
“You’ll like it. Don’t worry Layla, I promise to talk real dirty while I show you what I want to do to that smart mouth.”
I shivered. I fucking shivered. At least I’d get some guaranteed orgasms. I liked guaranteed orgasms. A lot.
“My place, tonight at seven. I’ll send a car.”
And now we’d officially moved into Pretty Woman territory. There was no need to respond because he wasn’t asking any damn questions. Only issuing orders. I was determined to be pissed about that even though it turned me on way more than it should have.
I cursed Eamon’s name on my fifteen-minute-drive to work. I squeezed my knees together in the elevator just thinking about that leather and pine scent I knew was somehow all him. I cursed his name even as I made a last-minute lunchtime appointment for a full wax and buff. And a quick stop at a lingerie shop before I headed home at the end of the day.
If I was going to do this, then I’d have the armor I needed.
***
I expected that a mob boss—or whatever the other guys in the mob who aren’t bosses—would live in some swanky condo in downtown Rocket or one of those flashy monstrosities inside the gated communities that now dotted the city. But when we drove up to the modern cement and glass structure that practically blended into the mountain behind it, I thought the driver had made a mistake. This was where Eamon called home? I stood inside a paved circular driveway beside the young female driver, but I couldn’t see inside because of the lack of windows.
